


Despoilment

by idiom



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Porn, Sex, a lot os sex, slight dub-con, straight up porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiom/pseuds/idiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Vikings finish pillaging the monastery, Rollo is the one to capture Athelstan. He sees some use for the priest, so rather than killing him, he brings Athelstan to Ragnar’s room as a gift to celebrate their triumph. Ragnar is surprised, but far from displeased. </p><p>-o-</p><p>  <i>“What are you doing?” Athelstan demanded, his voice barely a whisper.</i></p><p>  <i>“I’m going to show you what those words mean.” Ragnar’s lips split into a sensuous grin. “Now, spread your legs.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Despoilment

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure smut. Don't worry, Rollo really doesn't feature in it  
> Not even going to try to excuse myself. Anyway… yeah... Viking smut... ENJOY!

“What is this, brother?” Ragnar asked as his gaze fell to the young man bound with a rope around his neck in the bed he had claimed.

The men had decided to stay at the strange fort for the night. There was room and ample food; it would have been a pity to see what they could not carry back with them go to waste.

Rollo thought the same about this particular priest.

Sensing his brother’s confusion, he slapped a friendly hand on Ragnar’s shoulder. “I thought you might like some companionship. I know you don’t take to other women when away from you wife, not that there are any women in this place anyway." He tugged at the rope around the priest’s neck a bit more harshly than was necessary, drawing him up to his knees with a strangled cry. "Thought you might like to try a boy. Chaste little thing that he is, I'm sure virgin ass is as tight as any cunt.”

"Rollo," Ragnar raised a hand to cut off his brother’s obscene tirade. He stared at the half-sobbing, shivering young man in the bed. It was pity and not hostility that Ragnar felt towards him.  "I thank you, brother. Now leave us."

Rollo chuckled even as his expression dropped at being ordered around. Nodding his head, he tossed the rope to Ragnar’s feet.

“Enjoy him, _brother_.” With a sneer, Rollo put Ragnar at his back. He didn’t see the look his brother cast him nor did he hear him sigh unhappily as he left the room, closing the heavy wooden door noisily behind him.

Ragnar picked up the rope at his feet and began wrapping it securely around his hand and arm as he approached the bed. His captive did not move even when given the chance to flee. He only stared at Ragnar, eyes pleading with him.  
"Your people are far from what we expected, little thing." Ragnar cocked his head to one side and reached to palm at his captive’s head. “And your hair is strange.”

The youth bent away from him, cringing. His eyes fell shut and he clasped his hands together. Holding a piece of silver to his lips, he whispered something to himself under his breath. A prayer.

Ragnar recognised the gesture though he didn’t recognise the priest’s words. He only smiled a little as young man jerked away from him ever so slightly each time he tried to come near. With sword calloused fingers, he leaned forward and stroked one of the priest’s pale cheeks.

"You have such a sweet lilt in you tongue. If only words traveled to mind from ear,” Ragnar said with a smirk.

They priest paused in his chanting and looked up at Ragnar with doleful, blue eyes. “Please let me go,” he said.

Ragnar jerked back then, his brow drawn in his confusion. “You speak our language? How?”

There was more fear than defiance in the priest’s eyes as he thought on his answer. “I have traveled… spreading the word of god.”

“Your god.” Ragnar was interested now. “Do you think he was watching over you when he brought you to my bed rather than letting you die with so many of your brothers.”

The priest let out a shaky breath. “It is too early to tell.”

Ragnar said nothing in reply and slowly eyed the youth, up and down. He found the little priest lovely in a way that a man ought not to be. Yes. Lovely but odd. The priest looked more a boy then a man with his clean-shaven face.

“What is your name?” Ragnar asked, gently.

Silence.

It took a moment before the priest answered.

“Athelstan.”

“Athelstan.” The Viking let the unfamiliar speech sounds roll of his tongue. With a nod he replied, “I am Ragnar… Lothbrok.”

Athelstan nodded slowly. “Ragnar, yes, I know. Your brute mentioned it when he brought me to your bed.”

Ragnar frowned at the error in Athelstan’s words. “You mean to say ‘brother’ not ‘brute’.”

“Of course. How clumsy of me.” Athelstan replied. His eyes betrayed him though. He had not spoken a word in error.

Ragnar saw this and laughed. He reached forward to the rope around Athelstan’s neck. His sudden movement made the priest twitch away so he raised his hands in a yielding gesture. “Calm yourself, I mean only to remove bonds.”

Athelstan let out a sigh and moved closer to Ragnar once more, allowing for the thick rope to be slipped from his neck leaving only a small band of bruised skin behind.

Athelstan rubbed his neck delicately and whispered a quiet, “Thank you.”

Ragnar only grunted in reply and tossed the rope aside. “So, you understand our language, then you understood Rollo’s words, clearly.”

“I did.” Athelstan looked down at his hands, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe. “I think he said he will kill me when morning breaks and I know what he… expected-”

“Have faith that no harm will come to you by Rollo’s hand. I give you my word,” Ragnar said, cutting him off. He would have stern words with his brother come morning. That was for certain.

Athelstan nodded, shoulders relaxing in his relief. As he continued he spoke tentatively, “When your brother spoke to you… ‘tight virgin cunt’? I did not understand those words.” The priest blinked up at Ragnar, his innocent, blue eyes wide with question.

Ragnar felt his abdomen grow tight with desire at hearing the priest’s naïve vocalisation of such crude words. Still, he couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. The strength of it made Athelstan jump back again.

Skittish little thing.

Ragnar chuckled. “I imagine those words are not ones you would have use of, priest.” he said with a smirked.

It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did he took pleasure in seeing a red flush spread across Athelstan’s cheeks.

“O-oh,” he said under his breath, one hand covering his mouth. “They are vulgar?”

Ragnar hummed in agreement. “Very.”

“But what do they mean?”

“Oh, is such filth not deemed unsuitable for your priest’s ears?”

“I must know,” Athelstan pleaded. “Should I hear them again, I must know what they mean.”

Ragnar groaned. His mind supplied him with a wide illustration of situations where Athelstan might hear such lecherousness again. He climbed into the bed and leaned forward over the priest suddenly. The smaller man obviously wanted to move back but there was nowhere left for him to go. He ended up simply pressing himself further down onto the mattress, looking so small and pliable beneath Ragnar.

Athelstan stared up at the Viking, his eyes wide with dread.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.

“I’m going to show you what those words mean.” Ragnar’s lips split into a sensuous grin. “Now, spread your legs.”

Athelstan’s jaw dropped open as he scrambled to find the words to protest. “You mustn’t! I have taken a vow of-” he gasped, interrupted by Ragnar suddenly and quite skilfully removing his pants in one swift tug.

Ragnar did not stop for words; he was already sliding his hands up the Athelstan’s legs underneath his long, brown cowl. Starting at the priest’s ankle, he ran his fingers over the alabaster skin, moving the thick cloth aside as he went.

Athelstan was gripping his bicep, nails digging into the skin there, but he wasn’t quite pushing Ragnar away. Curiosity got the better of him. His grip tightened as Ragnar’s deft fingers reached his inner thighs. He jumped and finally gained enough sense to pinch his legs together, which only trapped Ragnar’s hand between them.

“Where are you touching?” Athelstan demanded, eyes wide with confusion.

Ragnar’s only response was to move forward, pressing his hand further until he was caressing the cleft of his ass. He chuckled, repeating the motion with his fingers, pressing in just slightly until Athelstan shivered with obvious pleasure.

“I should have mentioned that those words before are usually only reserved for women,” Ragnar smiled while Athelstan stared at him, aghast. “But for tonight this is your virgin cunt.” The Viking ran his fingers over the furled muscle. “And it seems it is very tight.”

“Oh God.” Athelstan arched up off the bed as Ragnar continued to molest his body. No one ever spoke of this feeling, this pleasure that heated his blood and turned his body into an inferno that surely rivalled hell itself. His heart pounded against his ribcage and his long neglected cock ached where it was rubbing under his priest’s robes.

Ragnar took notice of his discomfort and stripped Athelstan of his cowl with the same ease as he’d divested him of his pants. This left Athelstan lying in the middle of the bed wearing only a thin, sleeved undershirt. The priest looked quite the picture. He blushed and tried to pull his legs back together to shield himself from Ragnar’s intense gaze.

The Viking stopped him, his large hands practically encircling Athelstan’s inner thighs.

“You’re like a child; don’t be shy.” He chuckled.

“I am not.” Athelstan blushed. Ragnar was soft spoken, and Athelstan knew the words were teasing, not mean, but he was not a child. He had every right to be nervous. He had never experienced such… gratifying violation.

Ragnar let out an unconvinced huff and smiled. One hand moved back down between Athelstan’s legs while the other remained caressing his thigh to keep his legs parted. There wasn’t another word of protest from the little priest as Ragnar took hold of his cock and caressed its length with long slow strokes that had Athelstan arching up off the bed, obviously distracted by the sensations coursing through him. This gave Ragnar a moment to look around the small room. He would have Athelstan, but if there were both to enjoy the night, Ragnar would first have to find something to ease his passage.

Athelstan swallowed back a moan and tried to control his panting breaths. He bit his lip and looked down between his legs, watching Ragnar’s hands moving over his skin. When his gaze returned to the man’s face, Athelstan couldn’t help but notice he seemed to be preoccupied with something else.

“What- what are you doing now?”

Ragnar didn’t answer. He simply continued searching the room. A clay bowl with liquid and what appeared to be a wick in it caught his eyes. He leaned over to reach it on the bedside table. Dipping his fingers into the liquid he found it was slippery and viscous.

Oil of some sort. Perfect.

Athelstan found himself unable to resist laying his hands on thick stretch of muscle above him as Ragnar leaned across the bed. The man’s chest looked as though it had been carved out of stone. Athelstan had never seen a man work his body into such a picture of strength. He was enraptured, but not enough to miss what Ragnar was doing.

Athelstan frowned slightly as he noticed the strange glazed over appearance of two of Ragnar’s fingers. He looked to the bedside table and quickly realized what Ragnar had done. As the Viking made to touch him again, Athelstan caught his wrist.

Ragnar cocked his head to one side and the slick oil coating his fingers drizzled down his interrupted hand.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, smirking at the boy’s skittishness.

Athelstan’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he found the words to explain. “That’s holy oil.”

Ragnar stared at him blankly and then laughed. He removed Athelstan’s hand from his wrist and held it to the pillow above his head.

“Have faith, priest. You will be more thankful for my using it than if I did not.”

Ragnar wasted no time in preparing him. His oil slick fingers slipped through the portal of Athelstan’s body. He thrust, not quite stretching, but searching. Athelstan jolted suddenly and, with a chuckle, Ragnar recognised that he’d found the spot he’d been looking for. He tortured the smaller man beneath him with pleasure before diligently adding another digit alongside the first. He released the hand he was holding to the pillow allowing Athelstan to lean forward to clutch at his muscled shoulders.

Athelstan let out breathy gasps and his hands slipped in the man’s sweat as he tried clinging to the man above him. His fingertips dug into the skin of Ragnar’s back leaving angry, red welts in their wake. It was filthy, degrading… but it felt so good. Nothing on gods green earth should have felt so good. It must be a grave sin. He should have fought or run, but he could not… or so he told himself.

Athelstan pressed his face into the Ragnar’s neck, hiding the shameful flush that had spread across his cheeks as the man worked his fingers inside him. Between his moans, he panted against Ragnar’s collarbone, his lips brushing the heated flesh there. Each press of the Viking’s fingers inside him drew a sharp cry from his lips. He could practically feel himself passing into a realm ruled by a lustful devil. He pressed further into the crook of Ragnar’s neck and squeezed his eyes shut.

Ragnar growled at that and suddenly shoved him down.

Athelstan fell back, flush against the warm mattress, letting out a sharp gasp as he landed.

“Ragnar?”                                            

“I want to see you.”

“I-I… ah!” Athelstan wanted to protest, but the thrust of Ragnar’s much larger body over him turned protest into pleas. Through the Vikings clothes he could feel Ragnar’s length, thick and hard in his trousers.

Ragnar slowly slipped away from Athelstan so he could undress. He shucked off his pants and pulled his tunic over his head. Once naked he returned only to find Athelstan’s fingers had replaced his own. He was touching himself, slipping his fingers into his open body with a look of astonishment on his face, as if Ragnar had cast some sort of pagan spell on him.

“Oh, little priest,” Ragnar sighed as he positioned himself back between Athelstan’s legs, grinning as the youth looked away from him with one lip worried between his teeth.

Athelstan let out a surprised peep as his shirt was suddenly pushed up under his arms leaving his torso exposed to the cool air. He shivered while Ragnar ran his sword calloused fingers all over his chest, and sides and stomach, teasing his nipples between rough fingers.

Ragnar smoothed his hands down Athelstan’s body. He only stopped to rest on Athelstan’s hips and stroke the pale skin there for a moment. Suddenly, Ragnar canted his hips. He pressed the head of his cock against Athelstan’s ready entrance and, covering the smaller man’s body with his own, he slowly sank inside that silky grip.

Athelstan’s breath hitched and he bit his knuckles to keep from crying out as Ragnar started to move inside him, thrusting with a gentleness that seemed unusual for the large man.

Athelstan was filled with a keen sense of want. Yes. He wanted this, though he would not say so out loud.

Ragnar groaned as he slowed the pace of his pistoning hips to prolong their sex. He pressed his mouth to Athelstan’s neck, just moistening the skin there with heated breaths. His lips brushed low over the priest’s blushing collar before he moved back up to whisper in Athelstan’s ear.

“You’re so sweet in your submission, Athelstan; my wife will enjoy training you to suit her needs.”

Athelstan let out a strangled cry, his legs tightening around Ragnar’s hips. His wife? Was there any sin he had not yet indulged in this night? Sex, lust, hedonism; he was an all too willing party to Ragnar’s carnal desire and now to his adultery.

Ragnar was grinning; his words obviously had their desired effect. He ran his fingers through Athelstan’s dark curls as he continued. “My wife, she is a ferocious woman; you’re lucky I even remember how to be gentle.”

 _This is gentle?_ Athelstan would have voiced his complaint were he not so breathless at the feel of Ragnar’s cock inside him. That thick length stretched him in a way that before Athelstan had only imagined could be torturous. That idea seemed far away as Ragnar rolled his hips and ecstasy coursed through his entire body. Under Ragnar’s shameless, lust-filled gaze, he shivered and pressed his head back into the pillow beneath him.

Ragnar watched him closely and let out a breathless grunt, satisfied with the priest’s easy compliance. He enjoyed running his hands all over Athelstan’s body spread out before him. He enjoyed being the source his pleasure. He enjoyed seeing the holy man writhe beneath him.

He wanted to see more.

“What would bring you pleasure, Athelstan?” Ragnar asked, his hips still now, he remained pressed deep inside Athelstan’s body, touching his core in a way that had the young priest biting his knuckles again. “What would you have me do to you?”

“I would have you stop,” Athelstan gasped out without hesitation. Ragnar’s deep chuckled in response sent a delicious thrill through him. That sound… it was as though God himself was mocking him with his laughter. Were his words so obvious? Was his tone so filled with denial? Athelstan supposed lying to oneself was just as grave a sin as lying to anyone else and it seemed the Viking gods had similar objections.

“Such clear dishonesty is punishable in my lands, priest,” Ragnar said, his breath warming Athelstan’s ear, causing him to shiver. With renewed vigour, Ragnar thrust into Athelstan with long, hard stokes, nearly withdrawing his cock completely before driving back in. He was intent on making the priest cry out for all to hear.

“Say ‘fuck me’,” Ragnar ordered suddenly.

Between gasping breaths and even in the fog of pleasure, Athelstan still had the mind to ask, “What does that mean?”

“Say it.”

The young priest bit his lip.

“Fuck me.”

Ragnar groaned, his thrusts abandoning their steady rhythm.

“Again,” he practically growled as his hips slapped Athelstan’s with a brutal thrust. He wrapped a fist around Athelstan’s cock and squeezed until the youth complied again.

“Ah! Ragnar!” Athelstan bit out, through teeth clenched with pleasure. “Fuck me!”

Ragnar sped up his pace, still stroking Athelstan as he rolled his hips forward. He plunged into to the smaller body beneath him; harder and faster until he was sure the little priest would break. His heartbeat drummed him his ears in time with his erratic thrusts.

Athelstan only whispered silent gratified prayers as he tightened his legs around Ragnar’s waist. He bit his lip to keep from screaming out his pleasure but soon, his mind left him and all the filthy words Ragnar whispered into his ear became a hot, red blur. The Viking, though, didn’t seem to mind that Athelstan’s begging had suddenly switched from his broken Nordic back to his own language.

“Ah, please!” Athelstan cried out with that delectable lilt lacing his words anew. “Ragnar!”

Ragnar felt the heat inside him reaching its boiling point. Their heavy breaths and the sound of his hips slapping against Athelstan’s were the only noises echoing through the small stony chamber. Ragnar moved one hand faster over the priest’s cock. The other ran over every inch of Athelstan’s body. He was wanted to set him off. He wanted to feel him tighten in climax as he reached his own.

It did not take long. Athelstan was clutching at the pillow beneath his head, thrashing this way and that. Finally, with a sharp cry, he arched up off the bed and came across his chest.

Everything went white. Athelstan thought that he was surely dying. Yes. The world had just come to an end.

Ragnar fucked him through his orgasm, grunting like a wild boar. He sat up and pulled Athelstan’s hips into his lap. The increased pressure around his cock quickly pulled him to the edge as well. He thrust rabidly into the youth’s over-stimulated body until his own orgasm crashed over him like a wave hitting the shore. He nearly collapsed at the overwhelming force of pleasure, barely holding his weight off the smaller man beneath him.

“Dear god forgive us,” Athelstan murmured to himself as he watched Ragnar run his fingers through the sticky, wet mess on his chest. He let out a breathless moan when Ragnar’s tongue swiped up over his ribs, tasting sweat and seed before ending with a quick kiss to one pebbled nipple.

Athelstan touched the shaved sides of the Viking’s head, drawing his gaze to urge him to pause, and when Ragnar looked up their lust glazed eyes met as the ocean meets the sky on the horizon.

“I would kiss you,” The Viking murmured, their lips mere breaths apart. “But I would take you home with me first.”

Athelstan looked away. His eyes blurred with unshed tears. What was home? Surely not the desecrated wreckage and bloodstained cobbles around him now.

“Athelstan.” Ragnar touched his chin, turning his head to look at him. “Are you crying?”

“No,” he lied. It was far from his greatest sin that evening.

“It is safe, my home,” Ragnar said, encouragingly. “I will make good use of you.” He grinned.

Athelstan too a shaky breath and nodded, ever so slightly reassured. Safe. Safe as he could no longer define the monastery. Safe in the arms of the man who brought this apocalypse down on them. No. He didn’t want to think about that while his blood was still quickened from his rapture. Safe was good enough.

Even if the world had come to an end, Athelstan had faith there was a new one waiting just across the oceans.


End file.
